


I'm Still Standing

by TryingToMystrade (TryingToScribble)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But it's okay, M/M, Mycroft To The Rescue, greg is super sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 10:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToMystrade
Summary: Greg is super sad and tired but doesn't want to go home to beer and telly and getting lost in his own thoughts.





	I'm Still Standing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hoomhum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoomhum/gifts).

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOOMS  
I hope you have a frickin incredible day, you beautiful soul.
> 
> (I swear this has a happy ending. When do I write truly sad shit?)

It’s late. It’s dark. It’s starting to rain.

Greg sighs as he feels the first few drops on the back of his neck. His jacket doesn’t have a hood, or even a decent collar, so he hunches lower and pushes his fists deeper into his pockets for lack of anything better to do against the drizzle.

It doesn’t make him want to go any faster, though. He doesn’t want to go home just yet. He hasn’t got anything or anyone to go home to and he doesn’t really want to sit in misery with a beer in front of the telly any more. It does gets especially tough to go home and not fold up in a ball after making it through an awful day at work. Like today, some cases just hit harder than others.

So, despite the weather being like this all day, the longer walk appeals more than the drive home right now.The car was left at work and he makes his way around the edge of St. James Park, across Trafalgar Square, and onward through the streets of Covent Garden in a round about way home.

He looks up briefly to check the road is clear as he goes to cross it. He steps onto the road and right into a puddle. A ridiculously big puddle that can’t easily be sidestepped.

Greg jumps back onto the curb with a curse on his lips. He growls and shakes his damp feet, noting that his only good luck was that the puddle wasn’t deep enough to cover his feet completely a drench his socks. However, of course, on today of all days, his luck says fuck you as he’s drenched by the very same puddle by a passing van who speeds through the water.

Grinding his teeth, Greg checks the road once more and then storms his way across the road, kicking the cursed rainwater in a childish rage. He can’t hurt the puddle but he can feel good about it nevertheless.

His new found rage through the streets of London comes to a stop again as his phone chimes in his pocket. He absently takes it from his pocket wanting another distraction from the literal cloud over him. By some miracle the mobile isn’t even a little damp so he has no trouble swiping at it and stopping in his tracks at the name on the screen.

Surely Mycroft had better things to do than text Greg.

He slides the message open.

Oh.

_ _Go home, Gregory. Relax. You need not worry, all will be well. -M_ _

_ _

It is followed almost immediately by another chime.

_ _I do believe a dinner date in the near future is needed. After all, I do need to wish you a proper happy birthday. -M_ _

Oh. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

Of course Mycroft would be the only one to remember, including the birthday boy himself.

__I’ll hold you to that. __He sends it before he realises he’s smiling. Good distraction. Mycroft is definitely watching him somehow. Greg has stopped asking.

He’s glad that for whatever reason Mycroft has decided to look out for him. He’s also glad, though, that Mycroft hasn’t sent a car for him this time. Greg would take it no question, Mycroft’s generosity was nothing to turn your nose at, but Greg still wanted the walk despite the improvement of his mood.

Another block and he’s still smiling while walking passed a pub. He thinks it might be a Weatherspoons but that isn’t what he notices.

The pub is playing music and the door is open between the two bouncers on duty. He nods at them as he tries to figure out what he recognises.

_ _

** **Did you think this fool could never win** **

** **Well look at me, I’m coming back again** **

** **

He laughs a little when he fully recalls the tune. How fitting.

** **Don’t you know I’m still standing better than I ever did** **

** **Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid** **

** **

He knows that this isn’t a divine calling that is playing as he walks by just for him. He knows that, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking how perfect it is that Mycroft could lift his spirits so far from the ground he was dragging them on, how perfect it is that he should hear this just as he needed to, just as it meant something.

He shakes his head mirthfully and continues to hum his new theme as he finally makes his way home with a clear head.

** **

When he gets to his flat he starts to relax and realises how tired he is. That’s probably a good thing. He can collapse as soon as he’s showered and sleep for two days courtesy of the boss. Bloody fantastic idea.

As he takes out his keys he fumbles and drops them. He groans for his own sympathy as he bends to pick them up but is caught short when his gaze lifts again because his door is suddenly open.

“What- Mycroft? What…”

Greg is struggling for words, flapping like a goldfish, but that’s okay because Mycroft has experience with goldfish. He smiles a soft, genuine, welcoming smile and huddles Greg inside.

“Honestly, Gregory. I know you needed to blow off some steam but did you really need to start a fight with the elements?” Mycroft tuts as he peels the man from his sodden coat. Greg mumbles an incoherent defence until he remembers that Mycroft isn’t supposed to be here.

“Why are you here, Mycroft?” He turns on to the other man who is leading them towards the kitchen. “Not that you’re not welcome, of course. I just didn’t realise you would be. Here, I mean. You know, with your texts, and the fact that you didn’t mention anything, and you not having a key, and…”

There in front of Greg on his kitchen table are the complete workings of an intimate dinner for two. Perhaps he had someone to come home to after all. He stands in awe for a few beats before looking to Mycroft for explanation.

Mycroft looks nervous. He has never seen Mycroft look nervous before. Greg wasn’t even sure that Mycroft knew what nervous was but seeing the slight hunch in his shoulders and the fractionally widened eyes? Definitely a nervous Mycroft.

Mycroft shrugs. Greg has never seen him do that before, either. “I never said how distant was the near future.” Mycroft says with a smile that tries to be smug but is slightly uncertain. "Happy birthday."

Greg hugs him.

Greg then takes an immediate step back with a wince and a glance down at his clothes. “I’ll go change while you dish up then, yeah?” Mycroft nods his assent and Greg leans forward once more to press a quick kiss to Mycroft’s cheek and then rushes away.

Later in the week Greg is back at work. As he ducks under caution tape to leave a crime scene, Elton John sings from his phone. He answers it with a smile that he hides from the other officers.

“Hey, Mycroft.”


End file.
